


Only Ever in Dreams

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Series: Song Prompt Fics [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, implied wincest, late seasons wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: They've been keeping secrets from each other for too long.For the song prompt "Sad Dream" by Sky Ferreira





	Only Ever in Dreams

Sam sloshes a couple fingers’ worth of whiskey into a glass and drops heavy into the hard wooden chair. The drink burns going down, his head already pounding. The dead, eerie silence of the empty bunker presses against him like something tangible, a thing that could break him. **  
**

The worst part about fighting with Dean is that it’s impossible to put it out of his head. Reminders of Dean are all over this place, all over him. No matter how many miles he runs or books he reads or monsters he kills, his mind stubbornly returns to his brother. When Dean left, Sam thought a little space would be good for them both, but now it’s starting to become hard to breathe.

He sighs and shuffles through the clutter on the table—lore books, old newspaper articles, scraps of notes in his handwriting and Dean’s—and finds his phone. He flips it around in his hand, a dead weight between his fingers, the weight of everything he hasn’t said.

If only he could say the things he really wants to say, the things he’s been holding inside him for years, confessions that would change everything. Maybe it’s time to tell the truth.

He drains his glass, clunks it onto an open book, and punches Dean’s name with his thumb. He can’t bear to hold the phone to his ear, so he puts it on speaker and listens to it ring. And ring. When it clicks over to voicemail, Sam lays his head on the table and closes his eyes.

**

He dreams about his brother. Though it’s not as much a dream, really, as it is a _feeling_ , like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, a light feeling he hasn’t felt since he was a kid. No more secrets, no guilt or shame. Everything is out in the open between them, and it’s all he ever hoped it would be.

It’s soft touches and sideways glances. It’s harmless bickering instead of emotionally tense fights. It’s a house full of laughter and eyes full of love. It’s hands and lips and pounding hearts.

There are no monsters, no hunting, no end of the world apocalypses. And when they hold each other it’s never because someone is bloody and clinging to life, it’s because they want to and they have nothing to hide in this dream.

**

Dean jolts awake with the feeling of Sam wrapped around him like he’s always dreamed of but never felt. It takes him a second to realize what noise woke him up, to see that it’s his phone vibrating against the cheap plywood nightstand, the light from the screen an assault on the pounding headache behind his eyes.

He blinks a few times, trying to clear the hangover fog from his brain, and it’s Sam that’s calling him, but as soon as he reaches for the phone, it goes dark. _Dammit._

He rubs his eyes and gropes in the dark for the half-full beer bottle, nearly knocking it into the lamp before he manages to get his fingers around it, and takes a swig. It’s warm and skunky on his tongue, but he doesn’t care.

He tries to hold onto that feeling from the dream. It’s just a shadow now, a glimmer of what he can’t have. When he left, he thought that being away might be easier than being there. But it’s so, so much worse. He knows deep down that the only way to make things better is to just let the truth out. And it has to be in person, not over the phone.

He doesn’t even bother with the lamp, just starts throwing dirty laundry into his bag by the dim light coming through the gap between the heavy drapes. Grease-stained pizza boxes, at least two cases worth of empty beer bottles, and some girl’s panties from the first night he was here go into the trash, and he leaves the key on the table before slamming the door behind him.

**

It’s hard not to see reminders of Dean all over the kitchen, so Sam takes his coffee and pulls a chair up to the table in the war room with a scrape across the tile floor. He stretches, working the kinks from his neck after a restless few hours of sleep at the library table, and looks down at his phone. No texts or return calls from Dean. His chest feels like it might cave in on itself if he can’t say what he needs to say.

His thumb is hovering over the call button when the bunker door opens with a clunk and a screech, and Sam whips his head around to see Dean standing in the doorway, his duffle held loose in his hand.

Sam jumps to his feet, heart pounding. He takes the stairs three at a time.

When he gets to the top, he reaches out and touches Dean’s shoulder, just to make sure he’s really there. Dean doesn’t waste a second, hauling Sam in against him, and Sam lets himself be held, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back and tucking his chin in against Dean’s shoulder.

“I have to tell you something,” Sam says, a rough whisper muffled by Dean’s jacket. He blinks against the tears in his eyes.

“Me, too, Sammy.”


End file.
